The Unraveling of Harvey Specter
by thingsthatmakeme
Summary: A short story of how something as simple as a nosebleed begins the unraveling of The Harvey Specter. Harvey/Mike, very light slash, two-shot.
1. How it Began

Harvey Specter had considered all the things that could lead to his undoing. The best way to avoid an enemy's hit is to know what it is, and when it's coming. So Harvey Specter prepared himself by wracking his brain for possible weaknesses.

Who knew a little nose bleed would lead to the unraveling of The Harvey Specter?

The first time it happened, Harvey thought little of it.

"You're not working hard enough to be sick," he quipped, sauntering up to the younger man's cubicle, sneering at the tissue pressed against Mike's nose.

Mike's attempt at a glare was weak, prompting another smirk from Harvey as he stopped to lean against the wall of the cubicle.

"'m not sick," Mike protested, the words slightly muffled by the wad of tissues covering half his face. "My nose is bleeding." Harvey raised a brow.

"'nd I disagree," Mike continued, glaring at him. "It's my second all-nighter in a row. I'm working plenty hard to warrant sickness."

Harvey scoffed and gave the associated an unimpressed eye roll.

"You'll have to pay your dues somehow, rookie," he said, fixing the younger man with a smirk. "After all, everyone else here had to put in three years of Harvard Law to get where you are."

"I keep telling you that you need new material, old man," Mike said, rolling his eyes.

"If it ain't broke," Harvey grinned, straightening and brushing off nonexistent dirt from the lapels of his suit.

Mike ignored him in favor of pulling out another tissue and pressing it to his nose, bright red blood beginning to soak through the two he already held to his face.

"Hopefully you'll get some on that tie of yours," Harvey said, turning to walk back up the aisle of cubicles. "Donna's been dying to toss it."

He held back a chuckle at the week spluttering of his associate as he returned to his office.

The second time, he teased Mike about his "frail constitution" for a whole week.

The two were elbow deep in files in Harvey's office, well past midnight. Old coffee cups littered every possible surface not currently covered by paper – they had to get creative with placement after the fourth coffee run of the night.

Harvey's jacket had been discarded four hours previously, his tie loosened three hours previously, and his sleeves were just being rolled up when he heard Mike swear softly.

"Damnit."

Harvey peered up at his associate with a brow raised. Mike's jacket and tie were thrown over the back of the sofa beside him, his sleeves long since rolled up to his elbows sloppily.

The tie's current position had saved it from being ruined by thick drops of blood now spilling freely from Mike's nose.

"I'm pretty sure none of those documents contain pornographic images," Harvey drawled as Mike struggled to stem the flow of blood with his hands.

"Ha ha," Mike quipped, not sparing the older man a glance as he tilted his head forward and pinched his nose closed. "That only happens in cartoons," he grumbled at his boss.

Harvey opened up a drawer and tossed a box of Kleenex toward his associate, chuckling darkly as the cardboard box hit Mike on the head.

"Real mature, Harvey."

"I'm not the one who can't hack it," Harvey said, grinning. "Can't play with the big boys with a weak constitution, Mikey."

The third time it happened, Harvey was pissed.

"'m so sorry," Mike apologized, the sound muffled by the two hands currently cupping his nose.

Dark drops of blood dripped onto the paperwork and the glass table of the conference room.

"Oh dear," their guest whispered, eyes wide and face pale. Harvey's own eyes widened as their billionaire potential client swayed dangerously in his chair.

"Mr. Lanister," Harvey began, standing slowly from his chair. "Are you alright?"

Not sparing a glance at his associate, Harvey moved to approach the older man.

"Oh dear," Mr. Lanister repeated, eyes watching the drops of blood now littering the papers on the table. "I'm not very fond of…of –" he explained weekly, gesturing to the now bloody paperwork.

"Why don't I –" Harvey began, finally coming to stand next to Mr. Lanister and dropping a hand to his shoulder softly.

The man's eyes rolled back and he tipped sideways off his chair.

"Call an ambulance," Harvey directed, catching the older man before he could hit the floor.

He heard Mike's loud footsteps as the younger man fled from the room.

"Shit," Harvey swore, leaning over the pale man, fighting down panic. Harvey Spector didn't panic.

"What happened here?"

Harvey turned at the sharp voice of Jessica Pearson. The woman stood in the doorway, keen eyes surveying the bloodied paperwork and landing on her senior partner.

Thirty minutes later, Harvey was pacing his office with a frown on his face.

That damned kid was going to ruin his life. Time after time he had to go around picking up after his messes, and today was no different. This time, it was him literally picking up the bloodied mess of papers on the conference room table and calling Mrs. Lanister, apologizing profusely.

"Donna said you wanted to see me?"

Harvey looked up from his pacing and locked eyes with his sheepish associate.

"Sit."

He took an immense pleasure in Mike's fearful look as the man took his seat on the edge of the couch.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he spat, rounding on the man. Mike flinched.

After a moment of silence, he continued. "Most days, that's a rhetorical question, but today, I want an answer. What. Is. Wrong. With. You."

At Mike's continued silence, Harvey threw his hands in the air and began his pacing. "There's always _something _with you, Mike," he growled. "If you're not being chased down by drug dealers, you're drunk on my doorstep."

Harvey missed Mike's flinch.

"Or you're fighting with your girlfriend, or you're out of money for the week."

Harvey continued his pacing, ignorant of his associate's paling face. A small voice in his head warned him to stop there, because he was too damn tired to think clearly.

"Every damn day there's something new with you, and you know, I would have thought that after three months of working together, you would have run out of things to piss me off with."

"Harvey, I –"

"You lost us a client!" Harvey interrupted, turning to face Mike. "You're no use to me if you can't at least stay out of the way. But no, you have to go and fuck with clients."

"That's not fair," Mike began, anger flashing in his eyes.

"You want to know what's not fair, Mike?" Harvey said, raising his voice above Mike's. "I put my goddamn job on the line for you, and what have you got to show for it?"

Mike closed his mouth.

"First you drop the ball with the patent filing for Wyatt's prototype," Harvey said, ticking off Mike's offenses on his fingers, ignoring yet another flinch from the young associate. "Then you get tricked by Louis of all people into directly disobeying the _one fucking rule I gave you_," Harvey hissed, narrowing his eyes.

"And that was all in your first week!" Harvey began his pacing again. "You lost in _housing court_," he continued, throwing a look of pure disbelief over to Mike. "And now you've gone and lost me a _billionaire_ _client_ that Jessica has been riding my ass to get signed for _months._"

At this point, Harvey's voice had dropped to a venomous whisper.

"I'm sorry, Harvey," Mike said, his voice soft. Harvey snorted and turned away, unwilling to be swayed from his anger by his associate's soft tones.

"Just go home," he said, rubbing a hand over his face. The kid needed to leave before things got more out of hand.

Harvey stood facing the window, hand still pressed into his temple, willing the headache away, for several minutes of silence. Finally, he turned back to find an empty office.

The silent office left him with a strange mixture of relief and guilt on top of an incredible exhaustion. With a sigh, he dropped uncharacteristically into his chair and lowered his head into his hands.

The fourth time would begin the unraveling of The Great Harvey Specter.

Only three days had passed since Harvey had yelled at Mike, and so far, things were tense between the two men. Mike showed up on time, stopped by Donna's desk with coffee, then proceeded straight to his desk – not a glance in Harvey's direction.

Harvey should have felt pleased that his associate appeared too afraid of him to approach, but for some reason, Harvey felt rather disappointed.

Standing from his desk, Harvey turned to the window and picked up a baseball, spinning it slowly in his fingers. The kid hadn't spoken to him in three days, and Harvey Specter _should _be sadistically happy, or at least still angry at the kid for losing an important client.

Harvey's grip on the ball tightened. He didn't feel either of those things. Instead, he felt guilt. The kid had just looked so…hurt.

He slammed the ball down and returned to his seat. Content with the fact that most people would be gone now after 11:00pm, he didn't even attempt to conceal his frown. Staring out of the glass into the empty halls of Pearson Hardman did little to alleviate his sudden onset of _feelings_, however, and he lowered his head into his hands.

He needed coffee. He was just tired – overworked and stressed. The combination would surely bring about abnormal responses to situations.

Harvey stood from his desk and into the hall, cherishing the quiet that accompanied late nights in the office. His usual brisk, purposeful footsteps seemed too loud in the quiet hallway as he made his way to the break room.

As he glanced into the associate's bullpen – a habit ingrained most definitely not out of concern for a certain associate - he halted. Mike's desk lamp was illuminated, the soft glow basking his cluttered desk with light. Harvey moved to investigate.

Completely out of the desire to ensure his associate was working on _his _work, and not Louis', Harvey made his way to Mike's desk.

The kid's bag was still there, tossed unceremoniously on the floor, and papers littered the desk, an uncapped highlighter resting on top of them. Harvey looked down the hall toward the associate break room, but the light was off.

Where was the kid?

Purely out of the desire to confirm his associate wasn't slacking off and sleeping in the file room, Harvey prowled down the hall to the file room.

At the door, Harvey wrenched it open, hoping to scare the kid, and peered in. The room was empty. Slightly annoyed now, the lawyer closed the door and headed to the only other reasonable place his associate could hide.

Harvey reached the men's room and yanked open the door. The sight that greeted him would haunt his nightmares.

Mike was on the floor with his back resting gracelessly against the wall, arms and legs played out before him. The position looked vaguely uncomfortable, and Harvey probably would have laughed at the kid, had it not been for the blood covering the man's neck and staining the front of his shirt.

"Mike!" he shouted, his voice nearly cracking in anxiety.

Harvey ran to the slumped form, worry and fear coiling uncomfortably in his stomach. Shaking fingers found a shoulder and Harvey shook his associate desperately.

"Mike, open your eyes, kid."

Harvey's fear doubled as he received no response. All coherent thought left him, leaving behind only a panicked litany of, _Oh god, oh god, oh god, no! No! No! Please!_

"_Mike_," he croaked, his voice breaking.

Blue eyes slowly fluttered open. Harvey thought he might cry with relief.

"Oh thank god," he whispered to himself, leaning forward, suddenly exhausted, and resting his head against Mike's shoulder.

"Harvey?"

The man lifted his head to meet blue eyes, now blinked blearily at him.

"Wha' happened?" he mumbled, bringing a hand up to rub at his eye. He looked like he had just woken up. Harvey froze.

"Were you…sleeping?" he asked, completely bewildered.

Mike blinked a couple more times, then moved his gaze to the bathroom, looking rather confused. Then his eyes widened and he returned his gaze to Harvey, now looking rather sheepish.

"Ah," he said, hand now rubbing at the back of his neck. "Yeah, I was just so tired, and I couldn't get the bleeding to stop…"

Harvey finally looked down and saw a large wad of tissues in Mike's other hand, soaked with darkened blood.

"I decided to sit down and wait out the bleeding," Mike continued, looking down at his hands. "I guess I must have fallen asleep…"

Harvey felt so many conflicting emotions, he felt rather dizzy. Firstly, he was just so overwhelmingly _relieved_. Mike was alive. Not dead. Just sleeping.

_Sleeping. _The damn kid had fallen _asleep. _And he had _freaked out. _Harvey almost shuddered as he remembered how his breath had caught in his chest and his heart had plummeted as he looked at Mike on the floor. Heat pooled in his face as embarrassment flooded him. He had completely, totally lost all semblance of control.

He had almost...cried. Harvey Specter _never _cried.

"Get your shit together," he hissed, berating himself for his weakness.

He didn't feel things for people. He was Harvey Spector. He _used _emotion, he didn't _feel _it.

"What?"

Harvey looked down at Mike at the soft, pained word. Oh. Had he said that out loud? Latching onto the idea, he quickly hardened his face.

"This is the second time in three days you've had this little…" he trailed off, gesturing to the man. "Problem," he finished, rather lamely. "Fix it," he growled, scowling at the man.

He backed up, prepared to run – no, _walk_ _confidently _– out the restroom.

"Harvey, it's nothing," Mike said, struggling to his feet. "I won't let it affect my work."

"Too late," Harvey hissed, narrowing his eyes to take in Mike's rather wobbly legs.

"I was just tired," Mike explained, his eyes turned pleading.

Harvey pushed down the rising feelings of concern as he took in sunken eyes and pale skin. His hand twitched as his body betrayed his desire to hold Mike.

Harvey shook himself. He did _not _want to hold the kid.

"Get your shit together, Mike."

_Please tell me what's wrong. _

"Go see a doctor or something."

_Let me take you to get examined. _

"Just figure your shit out."

_Please just be okay. _

"Or you're fired."

_Don't leave me. _

The final thought utterly frightened him. Turning on his heel, Harvey stalked out the room.

Later, Harvey would say that that night was the beginning of the end of The Great Harvey Specter. For now, he was just overwhelmed.

Mike came in early the next day, no sign of distress other than his usual haphazardly pressed suit and entirely too skinny tie. Harvey forced himself to not look up from his files as he tossed Mike a case.

"Have this on my desk in four hours," he barked out.

So he might have given the kid extra time than usual, but only because he had a meeting. Not because his associate still looked tired. Not that he cared.

Mike didn't even respond, just grabbed the files and retreated.

Days passed, and though Harvey resolutely ignored the kid for all outward appearances, he watched the kid like a hawk. He _looked _fine. Tired, perhaps, but fine. The pale pallor of his skin had disappeared, and Harvey had coerced Donna into coercing Rachel into getting Mike lunch somehow each day.

As a week came and went, Harvey felt increasingly more uncomfortable. He'd glance into the associate's cubicles constantly, each time berating himself for the concern. He would be kept up at night, his mind cataloging Mike's appearance and comparing it to before. His mind would wander from reports, trying to remember each nosebleed incident.

It had only happened four times over three months, and before the most recent one, they'd each happened pretty far apart. And each were proceeded by long, exhausting hours. Harvey had Googled persistent nose bleeds, and nothing serious had come up, so he relaxed minimally.

As his thoughts drifted away from concern over his associate's health, his traitorous mind decided to linger on other, more frightening things.

Like how he rather missed the kid's presence.

Or how Mike looked, pale and slumped against the wall.

Or how his heart had plummeted at the thought of the kid being dead.

Damnit.

Harvey Specter was losing it.

And so, Harvey Specter did what any self-respecting man with an identity crisis did. He avoided the whole damn thing. He didn't leave his office except to meet with clients, which he did _alone, _because god help him if he had to actually sit next to Mike while his ridiculous mind tortured him with thoughts.

His dark mood kept everyone at bay, even Donna left him to his thoughts – only throwing him concerned glances now and then.

At two weeks after The Last Time, Harvey Specter found himself called into Jessica's office. His attempt to blow off the meeting was met with vivid and creative threats against his person, so at 8:00am sharp Wednesday morning, Harvey strode into the managing partner's office.

Jessica looked up from her desk at his entrance and gave him a steady glare, keenly observing him.

"Where is your associate?" she finally asked, setting down her pen and standing.

Harvey made himself comfortable on her couch, unbuttoning his suit jacket and tried to look casual. "My tracking device is currently not working. Ask Donna."

The woman just leveled him a look.

"I haven't seen him this morning," Harvey replied, shrugging. He really hadn't seen him for two weeks, but he wasn't going to tell Jessica that.

"Well, this case is big, and I'm going to need Mr. Ross' talents," Jessica said, moving around the desk and settling into the chair across from Harvey. "So I suppose we will wait until he arrives. I don't like repeating myself."

Harvey shifted in his seat after several minutes, hoping the frown on his face displayed anger rather than worry. He returned Jessica's small talk with only half-hearted interest as the minutes ticked by without any sign of his associate.

After thirty minutes of waiting and, for Harvey, growing anxiety, Mike Ross literally stumbled through the door to Jessica's office.

"Kind of you to show up, Mr. Ross," Jessica said, giving the kid a stern glare. Harvey turned around and took in Mike's haggard appearance.

While he hadn't truly seen his associate in the past two weeks, he _had _glimpsed him from afar. Either in passing the associate's cubicles every so often for unnecessary trips to the file room, or to watch the kid lock up his bike while he overlooked from the coffee cart – which he just _happened _to be at every morning at the exact time he knew Mike would be coming.

But from all those glimpses of Mike, he hadn't really had the chance to see how _exhausted _the man had looked. The kid's face was pale, his eyes slightly red and accompanied by heavy dark circles.

"Sorry!" Mike spluttered, closing the door and turning to face the tall woman. "I'm here."

Harvey watched as the younger man stumbled weakly over to where they sat, eyes narrowing. Mike's forehead glistened with sweat and his tie looked sloppier than usual. The damn kid had probably rushed in after sleeping late.

"I do hope we haven't interrupted your beauty sleep," Harvey growled, scowling at the younger man.

Mike turned to glance at him, flushing slightly. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking away. "Won't happen…again."

Harvey frowned as Mike had to take a gulp of breath before finishing the short sentence. The kid couldn't have been _that _winded. Bells started going off in Harvey's mind. But naturally, he couldn't just _ask _the kid if he was okay.

"I'm sure," he scoffed, his tone laden with sarcasm.

"Well, now that we're all here," Jessica said, sitting up straighter and opening the files. "Let's begin."

Harvey focused what he would describe as a herculean effort to pay attention to Jessica. He really did. But this was the closest he'd been to Mike for two weeks, and his traitorous eyes couldn't keep from glancing over at the man. And they didn't like what they saw.

Mike's breathing never slowed. Instead of leveling out, his breaths continued to come in short, labored puffs that the kid tried to keep quiet. After a few minutes, he began tugging at his already-mussed tie.

"Mike," Harvey said, wincing slightly as his tone came out harsh in his worry. His associate turned to him, the frown on his face momentarily lifting to show his confusion.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, feeling the guilt weigh heavier as Mike flinched from his words.

"I – I don't – nothing, Harvey," Mike mumbled, his hand coming up to rub at his chest nervously.

Jessica sighed as she closed the folder in her hands. "Have either of you actually been listening to _anything _I've been saying?" she snapped.

"S-sorry, Ms. Pearson," Mike apologized quickly, hand still rubbing his chest. Harvey's eyes zeroed in on the action, thoughts buzzing now with worry.

Standing abruptly, Harvey stalked over to his associate and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "What's going on?" he barked out, narrowing his eyes to take in the man's pale face.

"I'm _fine_," Mike said, trying to shove Harvey's hand off his shoulder. The older man's anxiety increased as weak fingers failed to move his hand off Mike's shoulder.

"Come with me," Harvey growled, moving his hand to grab Mike around the upper arm and pulling the kid from his seat.

"I'm not finished," Jessica snapped, standing. "What is going on here?"

Mike swayed on his feet as he was pulled into a standing position, his face paling further. Harvey tightened his grip as his heart beat quickened. His gut was telling him something was _very wrong_, and he was going to figure it out _right now. _

Mike, however, apparently had other ideas. The kid managed to wriggle out of Harvey's grip, and took a step back.

"Mike –" Harvey began, his tone commanding.

"No, Harvey," Mike cut him off, giving the man a glare. "You can't just ignore me…for weeks," he continued, pausing halfway to take a breath, "then go and be all…" The kid trailed off, gesturing weakly to Harvey.

Harvey bristled in anger. The damn kid didn't know what he was talking about. Every day he'd spent _hours _thinking about him, worrying about him, observing him quietly. Damnit, he was going soft.

"You're a pain in my ass, rookie," Harvey hissed, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Exactly," Mike said, still glaring at his boss. "So don't you start…pretending like you care now."

Harvey looked up, honestly surprised. The damned fool accused him of caring every other week, and _now _he's suddenly lost faith?

"Listen here, Mike," Harvey said, moving forward to close in on the younger man.

As the associate took a step back from Harvey, his face pinched in pain. Harvey halted immediately, the pained look frightening him. Mike grimaced further, letting out a small whimpering sound as he pressed his hand to his chest.

At the sound, Harvey could feel his tiny, blackened heart clench with worry and a powerful need to _make it better_.

"Mike?" he asked, a tiny part of his mind utterly sick at his desperate tone. "Are you alright?"

Mike's eyes moved slowly to Harvey's, and the terrified, pained look would be another image that would haunt the older man's nightmares.

"H-Harvey," Mike gasped, legs now shaking. "H-help…" he began, reaching out his other hand weakly. Then Mike Ross fell to the floor.


	2. How it Ended

**Author's note: Thank you to all who waited ever so patiently for this final chapter to come out! Life has been full and unexpected, and I'm grateful for the support of my readers. Much love, and enjoy the final part to this story.**

Harvey dropped to his knees beside his associate, not a single care for the expensive suit he was dirtying, nor the reputation he was ruining.

"Mike," he called desperately, hands flying over the prone man's face and neck, feeling for a pulse. "Please, Mike, come on," he growled, fighting back traitorous tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

Harvey Specter was panicking.

"Kid _please_," he whispered, giving Mike a slight shake.

Oblivious to Jessica's efforts to remain calm and call for an ambulance, Harvey shifted Mike so that the younger man's back was pressed into his chest. Letting Mike's head fall back on his shoulder, Harvey continued to splutter out quiet pleas and reassurances.

Jessica bent down and rested a hand on his shoulder, dark eyes stormy with concern.

"Help is coming, Harvey," she said, her voice calm.

For the first time, Jessica's dulcet tones did nothing to soothe his anxiety. Mike was literally dying in his arms.

And Harvey had spent the past two weeks _ignoring _him. Mike's last words to him were of how he thought Harvey didn't care about him. Harvey groaned.

"Damnit, Mike," he growled, brows furrowed in an attempt to keep the overwhelming pain off his face.

A flurry of activity at the door startled Harvey from his depressing thoughts as medics swarmed into the room.

"Please stand back, sir," a female medic ordered, hands coming up to take Mike from him. "We've got it from here."

He was loath to let go of his associate. Though his rational brain told him that the medics would help, he couldn't force his fingers to release the man. The fear of losing the kid kept his digits clenched tightly around the younger man's shoulders.

"Sir, we need you to let go if we're to help him," the woman continued, her voice soft.

Harvey nodded weakly before releasing Mike and scooting back against the wall. He watched the two paramedics swarm around the prone figure, his heart hammering in his chest.

Crisp voices barked orders as Mike was lifted onto a stretcher, Harvey's eyes glued to the man's slack face covered by an oxygen mask. _This can't be happening_, he thought, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes.

"Sir?"

Harvey's head jerked up at the tentative call to meet the gaze of the first paramedic.

"We're taking him to Presbyterian," she said softly, eyes shining with sympathy.

"Y-yes, thank you," Harvey mumbled, mentally trying to pull himself together.

He was Harvey goddamn Specter, and he could do this.

"Harvey?"

Dark eyes snapped up to meet the watery gaze of his assistant and Harvey's resolve absolutely crumbled. He moved quickly to Donna, rested his hands on her upper arms, and tried to ignore the fact that his hands were shaking.

"Let's go," he said, his voice thick. "We need to call –"

"Ray is already downstairs."

"Oh, good," Harvey replied lamely. "They've taken him to –"

"Presbyterian. That's where Mike has listed under his emergency information."

Harvey just stood, gaping – no, _subtly showing his surprise _– at his assistant, suddenly overwhelmed with a terrifying amount of gratitude.

"Let's go, then."

The discomfort of the cold metal chair of Presbyterian Hospital was not enough to distract Harvey from his scattered thoughts. His mind ran through each instant over the past two torturous weeks when he _could _have talked to Mike, when he could have approached the man, could have _seen _that there was something wrong.

But he hadn't. He'd stewed in his office, aggressively ignoring his desire to go to Mike. All out of the cowardly need to conceal his feelings. Feelings that he had. For Mike. Harvey had feelings for Mike.

Harvey groaned and covered his face in his hands.

"Harvey Specter?"

He jerked up from his chair, eyes finding a nurse holding a clipboard.

"I'm Harvey Specter," he said, hurrying over to the nurse, Donna right on his heels. "How is he?"

The nurse gave him a small smile that held more sympathy than reassurance. Harvey swallowed nervously.

"Dr. Andrews would like to speak with you, Mr. Specter," she said in lieu of any response.

Harvey nodded quickly, then turned back to Donna, grabbing hold of her hand and giving her what he hoped to be a reassuring smile.

"I'm sorry, sir," the nurse said as Harvey turned back. "Only family is allowed in ICU."

He quirked one brow at her, annoyance peaking through his agitated thoughts. "If I'm allowed," he argued, nodding at Donna, "then so is she."

The nurse leveled him an unimpressed stare. "As she is neither family, nor listed as the emergency medical contact, she is not allowed."

Harvey started slightly, hearing the implication in the nurse's words. He was Mike's emergency contact. He desperately pushed aside the warmth that rose in his chest at the thought, and pulled his mind back into the conversation.

"Donna is family," he said, his tone firm.

The nurse didn't miss a beat, though her eyes softened slightly as she said, "Mr. Specter, I happen to know that Mike Ross has only one living family member, and I can assure you that _she _is not Edith Ross." The nurse nodded slightly to Donna, her tone reproachful. "Now, if you'll follow me," she said, turning on her heel.

Harvey stared after her a moment, a tad suspicious and a lot surprised at her familiarity with Mike's family.

"But –"

"It's alright, Harvey," Donna whispered, placing a hand lightly on his forearm. "Go see him."

Harvey took a breath and nodded to Donna, trying his best to give her a reassuring smile. The slight roll of her eyes told him it didn't work.

Nevertheless, he straightened his shoulders and centered his focus on the only thing that mattered at the moment. That damned kid.

The nurse led him down several long hallways before halting outside a door marked, 'Dr. Mark Andrews, M.D.' She rapped quickly on the door.

"Come in," a muffled voice called through the door. The nurse complied and swept into the office.

"Harvey Specter, Dr. Andrews," she said, holding the door open for Harvey. He nodded to her and walked over the threshold.

Dr. Mark Andrews lowered his pen onto his dark mahogany desk and met Harvey's eyes with a tired smile, the lines around his eyes and the grey at his temples marking him around ten years Harvey's senior.

"Mr. Specter," he said, standing and moving out from behind his desk. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Harvey observed the man's outstretched hand for a second, blinking in confusion, before grasping it firmly.

"Pleasure," he said weekly.

Dr. Andrews nodded to the nurse before gesturing for Harvey to sit at the comfortable looking leather chairs in front of his desk. The doctor took the seat next to Harvey, sighing as he sat down.

"How's Mike?" Harvey asked, because he was tired of skirting around the issue and he needed to know _right fucking now _what was going on.

"He will recover just fine, Mr. Specter," Dr. Andrews said, smiling slightly again. The man's entire posture radiated exhaustion. "There should be no lasting damage to his brain or heart from the attack."

Harvey's relief was so sudden that he felt light headed. The doctor watched him, his smiling brightening, and patted his knee lightly.

"I do have a few concerns, however, Mr. Specter," he continued. Harvey met his gaze quickly, fear gripping his stomach again.

"Has Mike mentioned anything to you about changes he feels with his new medication?"

Harvey blinked, confused.

"I wasn't aware Mike was taking any medication," he said slowly.

The doctor's brows shot up in surprise. "He did not inform you of the medication he takes when he spoke to you of his condition?"

Now it was Harvey's turn to level the doctor with raised brows. "Condition?" he asked, trying to keep the panic from his voice. Mike had a _condition? _

Dr. Andrews gazed at him with shock for a moment before lowering his head into his hands. "Oh, Mike," he sighed weekly.

Harvey was getting agitated now. This doctor spoke of Mike entirely too familiarly for his liking, and coupled with the nurse's odd knowledge of the kid's family, the whole situation was unnerving him.

"What's going on, Doctor?" he asked, frowning at the older man. "What's wrong with Mike?"

Dr. Andrews sighed heavily again and raised his head, looking several years older than just a moment ago.

"Were you aware Mike named you his Emergency Contact and Medical Proxy?" he asked suddenly.

Harvey started. "Medical proxy?" he gaped. That was a _lot _of trust given to him.

The doctor sighed yet again, shaking his head. "I will overlook the implications of Mike obtaining your signature without your knowledge," he said, shaking his head lightly, a fond smile gracing his lips for a moment. "Because there is much you need to know."

Harvey gulped. He _should _be angry with his associate for putting him in this situation. He _should _be looking to press charges on the kid for forging his signature on a _legal document_. But he couldn't summon the energy.

"What do you know of Mike's parents, Mr. Specter?"

Harvey started again, looking up at the older man's tired brown eyes. The kid's parents?

"I was told they died in a car accident when Mike was a child," he said, recalling the awkward conversation he'd had with the kid on mother's day. He winced as he remembered the haunted look on Mike's face when Harvey had complained about Mike's selection of flowers he had ordered him to buy for Harvey's mother.

"_I've never had to buy flowers for my mother." _

The doctor nodded gravely, gazing down at his clasped fingers. "A drunk driver ran a red light and crashed into the driver's side door."

Harvey nodded, his mind running through similar cases he'd overseen at the DA. Unfortunately, it was a case he'd seen many times.

"James Ross died on impact," the doctor continued. "Nina Ross stayed conscious until the paramedics arrived on site." Dr. Andrews paused and met Harvey's eyes.

"And Michael Ross suffered massive chest trauma, and was unconscious when paramedics arrived."

Harvey's mouth dropped open.

"_Mike _was in the car?" he breathed. The kid had neglected to tell him that rather important piece of information.

Dr. Andrews nodded, then sighed and leaned back again his chair. "I was called in to consult," he continued, rubbing his temple. "I was – well, _am_ –" he chuckled weekly, "a leader in cardiothoracic surgery, and Mike's case required _precision._"

Harvey swallowed, mind spinning. Why had the kid not _told _him about this?

"The accident left Mike with a crushed ribcage," Dr. Andrews said, watching Harvey intently. "One rib punctured his heart, tearing the aortic valve."

Though Harvey knew logically that Mike had survived, had lived on and was still living now, his heart rate spiked and his breathing hitched at the news.

"After a very long, complicated surgery, I was able to repair Mike's heart by replacing the valve." Dr. Andrews smiled softly. "Mike has always been quite stubborn, and he recovered better than we had imagined."

Harvey snorted. Stubborn was a perfect word to describe the kid.

"Now," the doctor continued, "while the replaced valve worked as it should, over the years, scar tissue formed around the surgical site, leaving Mike's aortic valve narrow."

"Several years ago, Mike suffered from a similar attack to the one you witnessed this morning," he said, leaning forward again to steep his hands together. "We discovered that late nights, extreme stress, and improper nutrition – all of which a freshman at University would experience," he chuckled, "combine to put unhealthy stress on his already weak heart."

Late night, stress, and poor eating habits? Sounds like a Tuesday night at Pearson Hardman, Harvey thought dryly. No wonder the kid looked ill – the job was literally killing him. Guilt bit at his chest.

"This problem could be circumvented, however," the doctor continued, drawing Harvey's attention. "I prescribed Mike Coumadin, a medication that thinned his blood, making it easier for his weakened heart to circulate blood through his narrow valves."

Slowly, pieces were beginning to click into place for Harvey, but he sat in rapt attention to the older man sitting before him.

"Mike got along fine after that," Dr. Andrews said. "The only setback was the nosebleeds that resulted from the blood thinning medication."

Harvey's breath caught. Nosebleeds?

"But even those were rare – only during cases of extreme stress and exhaustion. I gave Mike a medical marijuana card to help with the stress," the doctor continued, frowning. Harvey stiffened.

"The marijuana helped to reduce his stress and normalize his sleeping patterns," the doctor explained, meeting Harvey's eyes. "His memory skills are quite extraordinary, but often Mike saw the gift as a burden, for it made sleeping rather difficult."

Harvey hadn't thought of that before. Sleep often evaded him at night, as his mind never seemed to realize it needed to _stop _if he was to sleep. And with the kid's brain, it had to be worse.

Dr. Andrews sighed again. "I believe, in the end, the marijuana did more harm than good," he said, rubbing his temple again. "Mr. Evans had a large part to play in that, but I will not allow him to take all the blame. Mike made very poor choices."

"Mr. Evans?" Harvey asked, shocked that the doctor knew of Mike's delinquent friend. "Trevor?"

"Yes," the doctor said, nodding. "The Evans family was close to Mike even when I first met him. Trevor and Mike were inseparable after Mike's accident. I believe," he continued, rubbing the stubble around his chin. "That it was Trevor who convinced his parents to let Mike stay with them until Edith – Mike's grandmother," the doctor added, "could take custody."

Harvey couldn't help the scowl forming on his lips. Damned Trevor. At least he was good for something, he decided.

"Trevor Evans was Mike's Emergency Contact and Medical Proxy since the two were 18," Dr. Andrews continued, gazing at Harvey. "But after certain…events," the doctor continued, making Harvey snort. _Events. _"I told Mike that he would need to list another, more responsible person."

Harvey sobered quickly, looking up to the doctor. He was smiling softly at Harvey. "I am unsurprised that he chose you, Mr. Specter."

Harvey couldn't quite decide how he felt about that.

"It was at this point I demanded that Mike tell someone about his condition, especially as he was starting a new, high-intensity job," Dr. Andrews continued, his smile disappearing. "He told me that he had spoken with you, and that you had agreed to be his Contact."

The doctor frowned and Harvey shifted uncomfortably. How would that conversation had gone, had Mike done as his doctor had asked? Sitting here, panicking over his associate's condition and wellbeing, he could say he would have responded positively.

But something nagging in the back of his mind told him that, before all this – before sincerely inspecting his feelings toward the kid – he wouldn't have reacted well to such responsibility, to the personal nature of the request.

"Now that you are properly caught up on all necessary events and diagnosis," Dr. Andrews said, his tone moving more toward crisp and professional. "I have some questions for you."

Harvey sat up straighter in his seat, pushing away his discomfort for now. "Of course," he said. "Anything I know that can help, I'll tell you."

The doctor nodded and brought his hands together. "Two weeks ago, Mike called me to ask about stopping his medication regimen," he said, looking at Harvey sternly.

Harvey's stomach utterly dropped. Two weeks ago? That had been after he'd yelled at Mike for losing them a client.

"I told him he could not stop the medicine," he continued, frowning. "The inartrial fibrillation – the irregular movement of the arteries in his heart – causes blood to stagnate. He needed the blood thinners to prevent stagnation, which can lead to a heart attack."

Harvey's breath caught again, panic clawing at his chest.

"He pressed me," Dr. Andrews said. "He insisted that the Coumadin was too strong, that the symptoms interfered with work." He sighed again, rubbing his temple.

"I agreed to lower his dosage," he continued, closing his eyes now. "I tried to talk to him about his work, but he refused. I asked about his medical marijuana card, suggested that he take up smoking again, if only slightly to take the edge off the stress and fatigue."

"But he refused, saying that he wouldn't ever smoke again." Harvey winced. _He _had been the one to demand that the kid stop. He'd sworn to _fire _him if he ever did it again.

"It didn't seem to work," the doctor continued, oblivious to Harvey's inner turmoil. "He called again, just a few days later, practically begging me to give him something else."

Harvey buried his head in his hands. If he'd actually talked to the kid like he'd wanted to, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Because he _knows _what the idiot did. He didn't need to doctor to tell him. He knew Mike.

"I could not allow him to reduce the dosage further," the doctor said, calling Harvey back from his sudden onslaught of feelings. "I urged him to talk with you about it, but something tells me my words fell on deaf ears."

Harvey tried not to wince at the slight accusation in the doctor's tone.

"I ran a toxicology report in the ER," he continued, turning to his desk and picking up a paper from the folder laying open. He scanned it briefly before turning back to Harvey. "There was no Coumadin in Mike's system this morning," he said slowly.

Harvey nodded. He knew there wouldn't be. The damned kid had put his _life _on the line for his _job. _And he'd yelled at him.

"So now, Mr. Specter," the doctor said, straightening in his chair and leveling him with a piercing gaze. "I'd like to know what the hell is going on with Mike Ross."

Twenty minutes later, Harvey found himself sitting next to Mike's hospital bed, eying the kid warily. This was his fault - he knew it.

He felt no hesitation in telling Dr. Andrews the events of the past few weeks, in addition to the other times he'd seen Mike's nosebleeds. Surprisingly, the doctor didn't share Harvey's conclusion about fault, but the man hadn't been there in the bathroom when he'd _yelled _at Mike.

Or the next few weeks when he'd completely isolated and ignored the kid.

Or in Jessica's office when Mike had claimed Harvey didn't care about him.

Harvey lowered his head into his hands, pressing the tips of his fingers into his eyes, hoping the pressure would ease the pain.

Mike had stopped taking the medicine that kept him _alive _because he'd told the kid that he'd fire him if he didn't get his nosebleeds under control. Harvey Specter was the biggest jackass in the state. And he lived in New York. That was a feat of spectacular proportions.

Sighing, he looked up to observe the sleeping man on the bed. Mike's color had returned, his skin no longer pale, verging on grey, but the dark circles under his eyes stood out more prominently than ever. The kid didn't look good.

Harvey recalled the warning Dr. Andrews had given him. Mike wouldn't recover next time. Another attack could leave permanent damage to his heart and brain, and even Dr. Andrews – the leading specialist in his field – wouldn't be able to help him.

He'd never felt so helpless. It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed.

"H'rvey?"

Harvey jumped. Mike's eyes were open, the kid blearily blinking up at him, a heavy frown on his face.

"What're you doin' in my house?" Mike asked, rubbing at his eyes.

Harvey gaped at the kid for a second, before snorting lightly.

"If this room looks anything like your place," he said, "it's time to redecorate."

Mike pushed himself up higher on the pillows, wincing slightly. At the flash of pain on the kid's face, Harvey scrambled to his feet and helped the younger man get situated against the pillows.

After positioning Mike, Harvey's hands immediately went to the sheets, pulling them up higher around the kid's waist, and smoothing them gently. Looking up, he froze.

Mike was staring at him, mouth agape, and eyes huge. Harvey winced.

Aware and embarrassed for being caught in an incredibly gentile gesture, Harvey slumped back in his seat and schooled his features into bland professionalism.

"How do you feel?" he asked, actually impressed that he'd managed that much apathy, as his mind and chest was currently being crushed by a weight of anxiety and guilt.

His dark eyes flickered to Mike's blue ones as he received no response. The kid looked confused for a moment, brow wrinkled and mouth still open. Then his face fell into hurt. Harvey nearly jumped to his feet at the look.

"Jus' fine," Mike mumbled, looking away from his boss to stare resolutely at his fingers. "I'll be out of here soon," he continued. "I can probably be back in the office in a day or two," he finished quietly.

Harvey Specter was speechless. _"What?_" he asked, more sharply than he intended.

Mike winced slightly and closed his eyes. With a defeated sounding sigh, he lowered his head back against the pillows. "I guess not," he said softly.

"_Of course not_," Harvey said, aghast. How could the kid think Harvey would force him back to work in _a couple of days_! The kid was staying right _fucking_ there in that bed until Dr. Andrews declared him in _phenomenal _condition, and not a single moment before.

At Harvey's words, Mike opened his eyes to stare at him. His gaze held an ember of the fire that Harvey could normally find in the blue eyes.

"_Fine_," he hissed weakly. "I guess you can leave then."

Harvey blinked, confused.

"Or are you going to insist on staying here to yell at me some more before you lose your chance?" he continued, still glaring daggers at Harvey.

"What?" Harvey breathed. Then he chastised himself. Very eloquent, Specter, he mentally grumbled.

"Well you can save it, Harvey," Mike continued, crossing his arms around his chest. "You've already made it clear what you think about me."

Harvey felt incredibly exhausted then. Lowering his head into his hands, he sighed. The kid didn't know a _thing _about how he felt about him.

Maybe it was time to tell him.

"Mike," he said, the name coming out more like a broken sob. Harvey wrestled with himself for a second before recovering and lifting his head to meet the kid's gaze.

Mike looked confused again.

"I am so very sorry."

Mike's arms dropped from his chest as he gaped at his boss.

"W-what?" he asked after a long moment.

Harvey summoned his courage and pressed on.

"I spoke with Dr. Andrews," he said quietly, watching as Mike's eyes widened and the kid flinched. "He told me about your - " he stalled, his breath catching in his chest. "Condition," he finished weakly. Mike winced again.

"You should have _told _me," Harvey said, emotion flooding his tone, the last words breaking at they left his throat. "I never would have –" He stopped again, floundering.

"I never would have said – I could have _helped_. I wouldn't have done –" He had to stop again to cover his face as he breathed. "I'm so sorry, Mike," he finished, the words muffled by his hand.

The room sat in silence for a long moment, Harvey passing the time taking deep, settling breaths.

"I'm sorry, too."

Harvey looked up from his hands. Mike was watching him with heavy, sad eyes now glistening with emotion.

"I should have said something," Mike continued, voice thick. "Mark told me so many times." Now it was the kid's turn to cover his face – the motion made Harvey's heart ache.

Harvey sat back in his chair, his heart hammering and his stomach constricting. He felt pulled in several directions at once. He felt absurdly possessed to reach out to the man, to comfort him. Another pull – one stemming from _years _of carefully building the persona he'd created – kept him firmly seated in his chair. And finally, a small portion of his mind wanted to run the hell away.

He settled for a compromise.

Slowly, Harvey stood from his seat and took the required step for him to reach the hospital bed, and gingerly sat down. Warily, he met Mike's eyes.

The kid looked utterly shocked. Harvey would have chuckled, but he was just so damn tired. Then of course, he realized that Mike was so surprised because Harvey had ignored him for weeks and shouted at him.

Harvey groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"A-Are you alright, Harvey?"

Harvey barked out a harsh laugh. "No, Mike, I'm an idiot."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive," Mike said in a light, teasing tone. "You can be alright _and _an idiot." Harvey looked up to frown half-heartedly at him. "I really only care about the first one," Mike finished, giving him a small smile.

Harvey found himself smiling despite his mood – the kid's smile was damn near infectious. He sobered quickly.

"I need to tell you something, Mike," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he looked up to meet the man's eyes. They were blinking at him in a mixture of surprise and chagrin.

"I have some things to tell you, too," he mumbled, breaking eye contact. He took a deep breath. "And I think I should go first."

Harvey watched the kid squirm quietly for a second until blue eyes met his, indecision bright in their depths. Harvey nodded.

Mike took another steadying breath and squared his shoulders. "I know Mark – Dr. Andrews," he corrected quickly, "Told you about my _condition_," he said, the last word coming out with a small frown. "But I think you deserve to hear it from me."

Harvey nodded again and settled more comfortably on the kid's hospital bed.

"I survived the car accident that killed my parents," he began, staring down at his hands solemnly. "But only just. Mark had a good deal of work to do for that surgery, and he'll never admit it, but the man's a freakin' genius."

Harvey snorted at the levity in the man's voice.

"So I survived," Mike continued, looking up and catching Harvey's eyes. "And apart from being barred from playing sports, I lived a rather normal life." He snorted then. "Well, as normal a life a kid could live without his parents." There was a sad bitterness in the kid's voice that made Harvey ache. After a second of great internal deliberation, Harvey settled his hand lightly on Mike's blanket-covered knee.

Mike met his eyes for a brief second, relief and happiness shining, before he returned his gaze to his hands.

"For a long time, the only evidence of the accident appeared in my vivid nightmares and on my chest," he continued, his hands moving to his shirt. He lifted the thin fabric to reveal a puckered, pink scar running vertically down his chest at his sternum. Harvey felt the desire to run a finger down it, but fought it.

His eyes were then drawn to the smaller, fresh incision above Mike's right pectoral. Mike's eyes followed his, and he traced the new mark lightly before meeting Harvey's gaze.

"This is the less invasive method," he said quietly. "It wasn't an option last time."

Harvey gazed at the incision, the two inch line of skin held together with bright blue stitches. It was the perfect symbol of his failings. He'd pushed Mike away, wallowed in his own feelings, and ignored his associate, who was literally killing himself to please Harvey. It was a sign of how close he'd been to losing the person he cared about.

Mike lowered his shirt, cutting off Harvey's view of his chest, and sighed.

"But in my first year of college," he continued, oblivious to Harvey's inner turmoil. "I started having problems with my heart." Harvey blinked, reigning in his guilt to listen to the other man.

"At first, I thought it was just exhaustion. I was constantly tired, and I ached in my stomach and chest." He grimaced, as if remembering the pain vividly. "Some days, I couldn't catch my breath while walking to class."

He looked up to meet Harvey's gaze again. "I wasn't going to do anything about it, but – well." He looked down, blinking sheepishly. "Trevor dragged me in to see Mark after a week." He snorted. "It wasn't too hard – I was too weak to put up a fight."

Harvey frowned, annoyed, as usual, at the mention of Trevor Evans. But now, he felt an additional annoyance at the man that had more to do with jealously.

"Mark took me in for x-rays and an MRI, and he found that scar tissue had built up in my chest and in my arteries," he continued, sobering. "He said it wasn't unusual, and that we could do something to circumvent it - that it would just mean more medication and closer observation of _my condition_," he said, bringing up his hands to quote the last words with obvious distaste.

He then peaked up at Harvey, looking nervous. "So, that's when I started taking Coumadin." Harvey nodded, Dr. Andrews had told him of the medicine. "And that's when the nosebleeds started," he continued, his voice barely a whisper.

"It wasn't often," he pressed, catching Harvey's eyes with a sliver of pleading in them. "And only when I was really stressed or exhausted – and even then, it wasn't every time. It didn't stop me from going to school or finishing my assignments."

Harvey watched sadly, realizing that the kid was trying to convince him that he could still be productive. He still thought Harvey was considering firing him. Apparently, Harvey wasn't the only idiot, he thought.

Mike sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his hands. "So it's been almost ten years, and I've learned to live with it. It's just…" he trailed off. "Inconvenient," he said finally, meeting Harvey's eyes again.

Harvey nodded, unsure what to say – something that would normally be a first, except for the fact that everything about this day was a first. He sighed.

"Two weeks ago," Harvey started, noticing the small flinch of his associate. "I was _livid_." Mike winced again. "I wanted to rage and shout," he continued. "I was utterly furious." He looked up at Mike, catching his eyes.

"At myself."

Mike's eyes widened, and Harvey looked down at his fingers.

"I'd gone into that bathroom and saw you there on the floor and I –" He paused, his breath catching in his chest. "God, Mike," he said, bringing a hand to his eyes, the fear still raw. "I was _terrified_."

He looked up to meet Mike's eyes because he was Harvey Specter and Harvey Specter was not a coward.

"I thought you were dead, and Mike, it damn near killed _me_," he said, his voice thick. He chuckled darkly. "In that thirty seconds when I hit the ground next to you, I almost _cried._" He was still surprised.

"Then you woke up, and you were fine, and God, I just –" He broke off, not sure how to explain his self-hatred.

"And I realized I was so – totally – _fucked._" He looked up again to meet Mike's eyes, willing him to understand. The kid just looked shocked.

"I didn't know what to do with the – the feelings," he continued, finding himself gesturing to his chest and frowning. "And so I lashed out at _you_, and I shouldn't have. And I swear Mike," he said. "I swear, I _knew _something was wrong. But I was too – I was too –" He stopped because, what? He was scared? Confused?

"So I said the coldest thing I could think of in my panic to _get out of there_, and then ignored you in a failed attempt to distance myself from my feelings." He paused, meeting Mike's suspiciously wet gaze.

"And it turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes of my life," he finished quietly.

Mike did a small intake of breath, holding it for a moment, and Harvey watched him carefully. He'd gone and done it – put everything out on the table. Now it was up to Mike.

The man finally breathed out – a huge gust of breath that seemed to release not just air, but tension and pain, relaxing the stiffness in Mike's back and shoulders that Harvey didn't realize was there before.

With deliberate slowness and aching uncertainty, Mike reached a hand forward, laying it on the bed just next to his knee, palm up. Blue eyes met brown, hesitant determination shining. Harvey took a deep breath. And reached back.

The first touch of their fingers felt foreign to Harvey, the width of the palm broader and the skin tougher than he was accustomed. But then Mike's fingers grasped his hand, and there was a strength in the hold that was comforting and warm.

And it was perfect.

Harvey met Mike's eyes, the blue shining happily along with a silly, lopsided smile.

And everything was good.

Mike was released a week later, after Dr. Andrews declared him to be in _phenomenal _condition – Mike had rolled his eyes at the doctor's smirk at Harvey, who kept up a firm scowl the entire time.

Harvey was convinced the nurses had pressured the doctor into declaring Mike fit to leave, as they were quite at their wit's end with Harvey. He had been a constant presence, if not in Mike's room, then pacing the halls on his phone, barking orders into his phone to Louis – _Louis _of all people – who was covering his clients.

Grumbling mildly about unnecessary embarrassment, Mike was wheeled out of the hospital by an overly cheerful Dr. Andrews and into a black town car, Ray holding the door open. Ray shared a look with the doctor as Harvey herded Mike into the car with incessant bickering.

They'd made it back to Harvey's apartment – despite Mike's attempts to argue against it – and were met by a fiery red head.

Donna took charge of ushering Mike – now sans wheelchair – into the lobby and toward the elevator, lecturing him the whole time about proper eating and exercise habits.

"_It's all about nutrient-rich foods, puppy. High in vitamins, minerals, and fiber, and low in calories. And for God sake's Mike, no more Red Bull." _

It only took a full day for Mike to kick Harvey out – and really, who was the kid to kick _him _out of his _own damn apartment _– to go back to work.

"_You're hovering worse than Grammy when I broke my arm at 12. Get out and go bother Louis." _

Two weeks later, after Mike had moved back into his own apartment - throwing his spare clothes into a duffle while Harvey lurked in the hall, a frown on his face - Mike returned to Pearson Hardman.

Days passed, and slowly things returned to normal. Harvey stopped walking passed Mike's cubicle for no reason, Louis slapped Mike with briefs to edit, and Harold dropped coffee over the fax machine.

But some things had changed.

Snacks appeared on Mike's desk when he came back from the bathroom. Harvey continued to steal his coffee, but always swapped it out with the bottle of water he had been holding. Donna appeared if he stayed passed 10pm to stop him from working, telling him she was on 'puppy duty' for the night. Rachel was more subtle, asking him to share a cab with her at 10:30 on a Tuesday.

Then one night, about one month and two long cases later, Harvey had to drag him away from his desk. Bribing him with dinner proved easier, and they ended up at a homey diner. Then Harvey walked him home. Then Harvey kissed him.

Mike's first nosebleed happened a month after that, and it went about as well as could be expected.

He was sitting on Harvey's couch, scowling down at a several thousand-paged contract, attempting to find a loophole, when a single drop of blood landed with a faint _plop_.

"Shit," he muttered, dropping the paper on top of the ever-growing stack on the pristine coffee table. His left hand came up to catch the blood now dripping steadily from his nose, while his right groped toward the box of tissues on the other side of the table.

"Shit."

Mike looked up at the slightly more panicked echo of his curse to meet frightened brown eyes.

Mike had accepted Harvey's near-panicked mother-henning, and went without much fuss to Harvey's condo, where the man proceeded to drag Mike into bed and hold him in a vice like grip for the rest of the night.

Almost a week later found Harvey opening his front door - untying his tie and breathing a sigh of equal parts exhaustion and frustration – and then freezing in the doorway.

"You need more beer."

Harvey recovered quickly, because, _hello_, Harvey Specter, and moved into his currently occupied living room, lifting a brow at his – he wasn't quite sure what Mike was.

"Seriously, Harvey, your fridge is sad and lonely," Mike continued, lifting his beer to his lips and not even sparing the man a glance as he watched the game on _his _television.

And so Harvey made a quick decision that would ultimately choose the path the two of them would take in their – whatever this was.

He shrugged off his coat, tossed it over the back of the couch, and – _so very elegantly – _collapsed down next to Mike, letting their thighs press together, and grabbed Mike's – really, though, it was _his_ – beer.

"Well then, buy some more."

Mike met his sideways glance with a dazzling smile, and that's when Harvey knew.

Everything would be alright.


End file.
